His companion gave a snort of laughter. ‘No. In winter we have snow and the roads become impassable.’ He emptied the contents of his pannikin onto the dusty earth, the dampness evaporating almost immediately. ‘Late January and February’s hotter. This time of year the weather can change daily.’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘I’m William Penrose, mine superintendent at the Maiden’s Creek Mine.’

‘Caleb Hunt.’ Caleb accepted Penrose’s hand.

Penrose regarded him for a long moment. ‘People only go to Maiden’s Creek for one reason,’ he said.

‘And that is?’

‘Gold.’

Caleb nodded. ‘You’ve got that right.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look like a miner. Do you have a claim or are you going out prospecting? Because if you’re a prospector, forget it. The country’s too wild, even for the most intrepid.’

Caleb pulled the claim registration from his pocket. ‘I’ve a claim. Tell me, Penrose, where’s Pretty Sally?’

Penrose’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Pretty Sally? About an hour’s ride out of Maiden’s Creek. Some Irish prospectors struck good alluvial stuff in the creek a year back and that caused a rush, no one’s struck the reef yet.’ He held out his hand. ‘Do you mind?’

Caleb passed him the paper and Penrose studied it. ‘Hannigan’s claim? How did you come by it?’

Caleb considered his answer. ‘Hannigan and I came to a business arrangement. Do you know him?’

‘By reputation. He’s not with you?’

‘No. He’s on the boat to Port Albert with the equipment.’

‘You trust him?’

Caleb thought himself a good judge of character, and the answer was no, he didn’t trust Hannigan, and had regretted sending the man alone on the boat. ‘Do I have reason not to?’

Penrose shrugged. ‘You have his mining claim. He has your equipment. This is not a business for honest men.’

‘It will be what it will be,’ Caleb said.

Penrose leaned against one of the verandah posts. ‘What do you know about mining?’

Caleb looked into his cup, grimacing at the unedifying sight of the black leaves swilling around at the bottom. Like Penrose, he upended the dregs onto the hard clay. ‘I spent a year in the Californian fields. Panning mostly.’

Penrose nodded. ‘The alluvial stuff at Maiden’s Creek is long gone. It’s hard-rock mining now.’

‘I don’t shirk a task, Mr Penrose and I’m no fool. I’ll just have to learn.’

‘Fair enough.’ Penrose cocked his head to one side. ‘We have all sorts on the goldfields. Plenty of Yankees like you from the Californian fields.’

‘Just don’t call me a Yankee and we’ll get on just fine, Mr Penrose.’

Penrose laughed. ‘And I’m a Cornishman. Don’t call me English.’

Caleb stretched his stiff back. ‘That coach ride was hell. Haven’t you people heard of trains?’